


i wanna see the sunrise and your sins

by allourheroes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, Anxiety, Biting, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Control Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Panic Attacks, Porn with Feelings, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Rough Sex, Sappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 10:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15628968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: Stiles was struggling for control and now Derek is giving it to him, no questions asked. Stiles pulls back, looks at Derek so he can get a read. Derek is waiting for whatever Stiles does next.It starts with a blackout.





	i wanna see the sunrise and your sins

**Author's Note:**

> This is the filthiest porn I've ever written, but there is...a lot of sap and emotional hurt/comfort before and after. Whoops.
> 
> [Anon prompted](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/post/176809328184/):
>
>> Top Stiles. Bottom Derek. Rough sex. Some screaming. Maybe some hair pulling. Fluff after. Pretty please ;)
> 
> The title comes from "Dusk till Dawn" (Zayn feat. Sia). Go listen to it, if somehow you've escaped it thus far. 

It starts with a blackout.

It’s just the power going out, causing everything to go dark, and it’s only off for maybe a minute, but that’s enough.

Stiles is hyperventilating and shaking and he staggers, falls to the floor.

“Stiles?” And Derek is crouching in front of him, his hands out like he wants to touch but isn’t sure what to do. “You’re having a panic attack,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe.”

Stiles is still shuddering and Derek glances around.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Stiles nods, so Derek continues. “Where should I take you?” And Stiles shakes his head, uncertain. “Home?”

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Stiles manages, but it’s barely a whisper.

Derek thinks. “I’m going to take you to my place. Okay?”

Stiles nods.

Tentatively, Derek grabs his wrist—loosely, to lead him, but giving Stiles more than enough leeway if he wants to pull away. “Okay. We’re just going to walk to my car.”

“Jeep,” Stiles says, and he fumbles with his pocket until Derek slowly does it for him, finds the keys.

“Okay,” Derek says again. He can come back for his car later. If Stiles feels more comfortable in the Jeep, that’s what’s most important.

Stiles is shaking the whole ride, but it starts to get a little bit better as they park.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

Derek pauses. He doesn’t know if it’s the right move, but he knows that contact can be good, can be grounding. He puts his hand on Stiles’s. “Hey.” And he waits until he’s sure Stiles is listening. “You don’t need to be sorry. Everything’s gonna be fine. We’re just going to go up to the loft until this is over. Because it’ll be over.”

This time, when Stiles nods, he seems a little more level, like something about what Derek’s doing is working.

They walk up and Derek directs him to the couch, gets him a glass of water. Derek takes a seat beside him and listens to Stiles’s heartbeat as it starts to calm.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, and he looks away from his hands to Derek. “I just…”

Derek reaches out again, and Stiles leans into it, lets Derek’s hand land soft and warm on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I get so scared sometimes,” Stiles admits, his fingers flex as he struggles with the vulnerability. “I feel like it’s still there, just waiting. And yeah. It’s stupid. But when the lights went out,” and Derek hears his heart pick up again, scoots closer to provide more contact if desired, “it made me think of what I did. And what I don't remember doing. And I felt like it was back and I had been gone again.” He swallows. “In the dark.”

“It’s not,” Derek says firmly, and his hand slides to Stiles’s knee, grips it. “You’re you. You’re Stiles.”

“Mieczyslaw, actually.”

“What?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nothing. I don’t know why I said that.”

Derek doesn’t press; now isn’t the time. “The nogitsune doesn’t control you.”

Derek’s touch is welcome and Stiles wants more, craves it down to his bones.

Stiles still thinks of Derek as the big, bad wolf, but they’re the same size now. Sure, Stiles isn’t a _wolf_ , but Derek can no longer intimidate him on muscle mass alone.

They’re so close and Stiles sees the way Derek looks at him, his gaze flickering to Stiles’s lips. He’s thought about this a million times, that maybe one day Derek would kiss him. Not that he really expects it, but to think of pressing their lips together, feeling the burn of Derek’s beard against his chin and cheeks, to— And then Stiles does it. He eliminates the space between them.

When they kiss, Stiles doesn’t have to tilt up, doesn’t have to scrabble for purchase just to keep himself in place. Instead, he finds that Derek—powerful werewolf Derek—is happy to let Stiles push him down in the fervor of need. Stiles doesn’t know why he can’t stop, but Derek isn’t trying to stop him.

Stiles was struggling for control and now Derek is giving it to him, no questions asked. Stiles pulls back, looks at Derek so he can get a read. Derek is waiting for whatever Stiles does next and Stiles can feel Derek’s erection straining against his jeans. Derek _wants_ Stiles to make whatever move he’s going to make, isn’t telling Stiles to go or stop or slow down.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” Stiles says. “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“Stop if you want to stop,” Derek returns, and Stiles feels strangely powerful.

“Alright,” Stiles says, and he’s trying very hard not to think of all the ways this could go wrong. He grinds against Derek the way they are but it’s not enough. He makes quick work of Derek’s shirt, his jeans with nothing underneath, presses in again to kiss Derek hard.

Derek squirms for a moment, pulls something from under the couch to make it available.

Lube. Stiles doesn’t question it.

 _He’ll tell me to stop_ , Stiles thinks, but even as he does so, he lets go a little more. His hand wanders down to Derek’s cock and it’s better than he had pictured it, hard and soft at once, smooth in his hand as he gives it a couple of experimental pumps.

Derek makes a whining noise in the back of his throat and Stiles pauses, lets it wash over him that he’s the one causing it. His gaze flickers to the lube and his fingers dip lower, palm Derek’s balls before he slips them back further. He feels Derek twitch, watches Derek’s cock start to leak.

“You can,” Derek says, just to make sure Stiles knows it’s not just a tease. He’s really giving Stiles the choice of what he wants to do, complete permission to do so.

Stiles slides back onto his haunches and picks up the lube, coats two fingers with it and presses them up against Derek’s hole. He’s only ever done this to himself, isn’t sure how it’ll go until he’s pushing his fingers inside and crooking them and watching Derek’s whole body twist in pleasure.

He does it again, gets a feel for it, and Derek doesn’t stop him, just lets out whimpers and words of encouragement. Stiles frees himself, grips his own cock by the base so he doesn’t come from just watching Derek writhe, feeling him around his fingers.

 _You should stop_ , a voice in his head is saying but there’s another voice, louder and more desperate, that shouts, _He wants you to. You want to. Show who has control_.

Stiles bites his lip. He shouldn’t know what he’s doing, not as well as he does, but it doesn’t keep him from pulling his fingers free, slicking his cock. He ruts against the inside of Derek’s thigh and then he slides back a little farther, thrusts back in and catches against Derek’s hole for a split second but Derek is radiating heat and Stiles needs it. Like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get it.

“Can I?” he says.

Derek spreads his legs wider, cock bobbing against his perfect abs and Stiles doesn’t ask anymore questions. It takes him a second to actually do it, to press past the ring of muscle, but then he’s sheathed in Derek, hot and tight.

He watches his cock disappear into Derek’s body with a sense of wonder.

Nothing _matters_ but this.

He curves over Derek, his thigh slotting under Derek’s to give him better access, a better angle.

Nothing is _better_ than this.

He lacks finesse, and his fingernails claw into Derek’s back as he loops his arms under Derek’s.

Stiles kisses Derek, too rough and sloppy and it only lasts a moment before his lips trail down, before he loses himself in the feeling of fucking into Derek.

And Stiles is biting into Derek’s shoulder like it’ll kill the pain in him, is fucking into him so hard, so deep, that it’ll drive away his demons. He tastes the tang of blood and he should worry but Derek just says, “I’ll heal,” like he knows what Stiles is thinking and so Stiles lets go of that, too.

Stiles’s fingers slide into Derek’s hair and tug, and he listens to Derek’s hiss and his hips jolt like he wasn’t deep enough already as he scrapes his teeth against the side of Derek’s bared neck.

Submission.

Stiles may not be a wolf, but that he understands without any explanation. His body seems to understand, too, as he shifts for more leverage, slips his hands down to Derek’s hips to pull him up to Stiles’s cock as he settles back.

Derek is gripping the edge of the couch and Stiles can see the blood where his shoulder is already healed and he wants more proof. More evidence that he’s doing this.

He scrapes his fingernails over Derek’s chest and he becomes distantly aware of his own sounds, the heaving quality of his breath, the expletives and affirmatives escaping his lips.

“Stiles,” Derek says. “Stiles.”

Stiles crumples, back hunched as his orgasm hits him. Derek’s leg keeps Stiles tight to him as he pumps into him, thrusts a couple more times and can feel his come start to seep out.

Derek squirms and Stiles pulls out, but he presses his fingers back in, slides them through the slick, sticky mess he’s left as he maneuvers so that he’s close. He lathes his tongue over the length of Derek’s cock, tastes salt and sweat and musk and skin, and he knows Derek is close because Derek’s hips stutter. “Come on,” he tells Derek and Derek seems to get the message, taking himself in hand.

When Derek shoots, it spills over his hand, his chest, and onto Stiles’s face. Stiles licks his lips and tastes Derek and suddenly everything they’ve just done is real.

 _He_ did this.

Derek is still naked under him and Stiles is still mostly dressed, could be cleaned up and ready to go in just a couple of minutes, no questions asked—well, by human standards, at any rate.

Derek looks wrecked and Stiles feels guilt swell. “Sorry,” he says, swallows. “Um. I’ll be right back.”

As Stiles cleans up in the bathroom, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror; his skin is flushed and his clothes are askew but he looks like himself.

“Stiles,” and Derek is behind him, but there’s space to tell Stiles he can run and Derek will let him. Derek is wearing pants again, although Stiles wonders how, but his chest remains bare. Somehow he had still been faster at getting semi-decent.

“I just wanted to take control over something,” Stiles meets Derek’s gaze in the mirror. “Sorry it was you.”

“I gave it to you,” Derek says. He looks uncomfortable. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have said no because you’re seventeen and I should’ve been thinking about that instead, but I wanted it, too. And if I gave you that power, that control, we’d both know it was you who chose.”

“Yeah, I chose.” He turns, hangs his head. “And I’m _pretty_ sure I hurt you. Actually hurt you.”

“Do I look injured?” Derek asks, arms spread so Stiles can take it in.

“No, but.” Stiles scrubs a hand over his face.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m obviously not,” Stiles says, “if this is what I do.” He squeezes his eyes shut, hands move in an abortive gesture. He doesn’t feel panic coming on and he thinks he should. “Except.” His face twists. “Except I do feel better. I mean, I know it was me. And that’s good. Even if everything else was—” Again, his hands try to convey. He leans back against the sink.

Derek steps in closer and waits until Stiles looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t—”

“Derek,” Stiles says, stopping him. “I’ve never done anything like that. With anyone. Ever. Like, not even remotely close.”

Slowly, Derek nods.

“And when I pictured that happening with us, because, yeah, okay, I pictured it. Many times. It was usually you doing the fucking.” He closes his eyes again and laughs, nervous and wild but strangely euphoric, too. But then he shuffles, just enough to make contact, enough to find Derek’s fingers and twine them with his own.

“When I pictured your first time, I pictured it differently, too.” And Derek’s voice is quiet as he continues. “If it was going to be me, I thought I’d make it perfect and special. That I’d be gentle with you because the thought of losing you is too hard to imagine.”

Stiles blinks his eyes open, frowns. “What?”

“Losing an anchor,” he says. “It can rip you apart if you let it.”

“Are you saying I’m your anchor?” Stiles looks into Derek’s eyes now, even though they’re too close and it’s somehow more intimate than anything they just did on Derek’s couch. He has to look. He has to know.

Almost imperceptibly, Derek nods again.

This time the laughter bursts out with the bubble of a sob. “Man, you make terrible choices.”

“That’s why I wanted you to choose.”

“I make terrible choices, too,” Stiles says. “I guess that works. Kind of. If you’re as fucked up as we are.”

Derek bites his lip. “Can I kiss you?”

Stiles nods. Words are too much or too little, so simple is good. Nodding is good.

Derek kisses him so softly, so sweetly, that Stiles cries harder, catches a glimpse of that neon blue when he opens his eyes.

“Sorry,” Stiles says again.

“Stop apologizing,” Derek says. “Unless you really regret it. Which I’d get.”

Stiles sniffles, shakes his head. “No. I mean, I _should_ , right? But no.”

He kisses Derek, but not like he did earlier. It’s an imitation of Derek’s kiss, something filled with the things he doesn’t know how else to express. He lets himself linger there for long moments, _Derek_ lets him like Derek let him do everything else.

“So was this a one time deal?” Stiles asks lowly. “Or can I get a redo? Because I’d really like to do something right for once.”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Derek says and Stiles scowls.

“Stop, okay?” But he’s smiling, even if the tear tracks aren’t gone. “Really. What do _you_ want?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” Derek says and it’s too goddamn earnest.

“Alright,” Stiles says, though. “I can work with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is allourheroes and if you, too, want me to ruin your prompt, [send it here](allourheroes.tumblr.com/ask). :)


End file.
